Mustard Duo (aka Dave’n’Ed),
Dave Barker (vocals/bass) and Ed Furst (vocals/gtr).
Dave had always tried to play rhythm guitar, and even began to move on from Open E tuning, but I had always felt he would do better on bass. One night a customer said: ‘I see you’ve brought a bass guitar along. Does that mean you’re gonna do some Rock’n’Roll?’ I reached for the bass, but the customer said: ‘Aren’t you going to do the catahhring, then?’ With one bound, I handed the bass to Dave, told him which three notes would get him through the next song, and started playing a load of Chuck Berry stuff. About eight songs later I lapsed briefly into reality, and realised that Dave was still playing the bass.

Washington Irving, aka Irving Washington (no, honest),
Ed Furst (vocals/gtr/hmc), Pete Hollis (vocals/bass), and Maurice Hayes (drs),
a semi-pro pub band which kept forgetting that it had been booked to play Country and Western.

Captain Ed, from left: Ed Furst, Keith Allen, Dave Hook.

Captain Ed, aka Mr Hook,
Ed Furst (vocals/8-string bass/hmc), Dave Hook (gtr/vocals), and Keith Allen – no, not the actor – (vocals/drs).
Another semi-pro pro band, but Dave Hook was seriously focussed on earning more than subsistence money. Enjoying the music was an unexpected bonus, and we got such a high percentage of rebookings that we decided to carry on ‘after Christmas’, and eventually revamped ourselves as…

Sinbad, aka Langdale,
Ed Furst (vocals/pno/gtr/hmc), Dave Hook (gtr/vocals), Rick Barducci as Rick Bard (bass/vocals), and Keith Allen (vocals/drs).
We recorded original songs at home and played anything but on gigs. Rick was the recording engineer because he had a talent for it, and he also bought the van because he (rightly) did not trust the rest of us to buy something reliable. We toured the entire UK mainland with Marty Wilde (or sometimes Heinz) on the cabaret circuit. I was very relieved that this particular boyhood hero lived up to my memories of him as he had been, before some pretender stole his crown. Rare, that.
We then changed our recording name to Langdale, in the belief that it would conjure up inspiring images of the Lake District. Apparently not. A few of the 54 independent record producers we sent our LP to thought we must be estate agents, and others thought we belonged to the million individualists who all buy their fell-walking uniforms from Milletts in Keswick, ready to hide in the Lake District when the WMDs fall.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. How many record producers does it take to change a light bulb? Mmmm, I don’t know, give me a ring in the morning. But you’re flying to Eurovision tomorrow. Mm, yes… Ciao…

Rifkin
was the invention of a fan of the Ingoes. She suggested the name, going solo, composing all my own songs, playing guitar & harmonica simultaneously (‘Oh, what, like Dylovan?’ – ‘No, not your drippy voice, use your ballsy voice, and keep your homemade solid guitar with the holes in, etc, etc.’) Pity she fancied Brian Godding, but then they all did. Anyway, two years later I realised I had spontaneously done everything she suggested except call myself Rifkin, so I gave it a go. Page One released ‘We’re Not Those People Any More’ (drippy voice) b/w ‘Continental Hesitation’ (ballsy voice), and Radio Luxembourg guaranteed 50 plays a week, but Page One forgot to get it printed because their staff were all concentrating their energy on somebody called Reg, with a song (which I must admit I almost forgot to hate) called ‘Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me’. Wonder what happened to him…
The session band was:
Ed Furst as Rifkin (vocals/gtr/sitar), Colin Frechter (harpsichord/vocals), Dee Murray (bass/vocals) and, I’m told, Dave Mattacks (drs/vocals); plus Colin Frechter again (producer/MD/logistics/tea lady).

Mustard, from left: Steve Ash, Ed Furst, Dave Barker and Iain Clarke.

Mustard,
Dave Barker (lead vocals), Ed Furst as Rifkin (lead gtr/vocals); Pete Hollis (bass/vocals),then Steve Ash (bass/vocals/MD); and on drums Robbie Tyrell, then Iain Clarke, then Alan Coulter. Managed by Rick Yates, aka Ricky Valance.
Rick Yates’ original plan was to have a backing band for Dave Barker, but about five minutes after Steve Ash joined as a probationary replacement for the flashier Pete Hollis, he took over and turned us into a vocal harmony group. Sometimes we called ourselves Rifkin, so we could say that we had a record out, and we would do a very good reproduction of Continental Hesitation if it seemed appropriate, but we were more of a touring cabaret band.

Rifkin IV,
Ed Furst as Rifkin (vocals/gtr/hmc/pno/org), Rick Barducci as Rick Bard (bass/vocals/descant recorder), and Morgan Kent (drs).
Began as a 3-piece live originals band, until Morgan wanted more bread, man. Rick and I went on to record several of the songs friends remember me for, all in the shadows of Mustard Duo, Washington Irving, Captain Ed, and day jobs which subsidised the recording equipment.

THIS REALLY HAPPENED!!
Only the facts have been changed to sell newspapers

The Cheynes,
Ed Furst as Eddie Lynch (vocals/gtr), Pete Hollis (bass/vocals), and Mick Fleetwood (drs), were a 3piece group called The Senders managed by Peter Bardens, because he had this truly immaculate, brown wool ‘manager’s’ suit. Fortunately he tired of this, and we became the Cheynes when he joined us on piano and vocals.
We released a version of the Isley Brothers’ Respectable; we were booked into the Cavern by a very convincing manager as ‘London’s answer to the Beatles’ and got away with it (well, he did: not so sure about us); and we did well enough accompanying and supporting the Ronettes on a tour with the Rolling Stones to be offered the next tour with the Crystals. I threatened to leave if we did not take the Crystals offer…

My next band was The Gravediggers,
Brian Godding (vocals/gtr), Ed Furst as Eddie Lynch (gtr/hmc/vocals), Brian Belshaw (bass/vocals) and Fred Love (drs).
Probably our most important gig was a short residency at the 2i’s Coffee Bar in Soho but, alas, long after it was seriously ‘cool, man.’ The Gravediggers very soon became…

The Ingoes,
Brian Godding (vocals/gtr), Ed Furst as Eddie Lynch (gtr/hmc/vocals), Brian Belshaw (bass/vocals) and Colin Martin (drs).
Yes, the same Colin Martin who became head of music at BBC Radio 2. Slag. We recorded the original demos of some of Sandie Shaw’s early hits (with Chris Andrews singing ballsetto in Sandie’s register), and of some of our own compositions which ended up on obscure records by Michael Crawford, Craig Douglas, The Association, etc. We also backed Sonny Boy Williamson, and This Other Guy on the blues circuit, which gave us enough cred to get away with songs like Nowhere To Run, and some of our own which had (blush) tunes. We wooed our dream manager for several months, and when we finally got him he started manipulating us, most of which we were grateful for (e.g. three months in Paris as the furst (60s) R&B band they had ever seen), but then he wanted to be George Martin and started adding arrangements to our recordings which we could not reproduce on stage. Then, to prove he was George Martin, he had to get someone kicked out of the band… Next!…

The Elastic Band,
aka Ed E Lynch & the Shakedowns, aka the Fantastic Elastics, feat. JC,
Ed Furst as Eddie Lynch (vocals), Rod Alexander (lead gtr), Mel Townsend (rhythm gtr/vocals), Mick Rose (bass), and Lennox Van Rossum (drs).
Great band. Rod played everything I asked him to and much more, but he had this radical oop North idea that musicians were entitled to earn enough to eat, so he left after a few months. Mel then lost heart, so we became a 3piece until Errol Dyer (‘Curly’) came on board with his (cue trumpets) Hammond organ. Even greater band. Round about the same time we did some demos for a couple of rich men’s sons who wanted to be songwriters, so I called myself Ed E Lynch on the records and the video, but refused to drop the band, but, (yawn) oh, you know the rest, don’t you. We then spent several glorious months on US bases in Germany, until we let ourselves be manipulated into supporting and accompanying a random troupe of comedians, jugglers, etc. The plan was that we would be exposed to every prime venue in the American sector, but two soul numbers at the beginning and two at the end was not enough to live down the muzak we had to play in between. Then Len decided enough was enough, and went home to start a family. That’s showbiz.